Mending
by LadyCumberBunny
Summary: Neville Longbottem is content with his life 15 years after the war, but when an accident forces him into the company of an old classmate, he wonders if he can ever forgive her for her past.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello friends! I am back with a brand new fic! This is my first foray into writing for the Harry Potter fandom. (which is strange, considering that I have been a Potterhead for 21 years!) I think the main reason I was so hesitant to write for this fandom is that I was afraid to play with JK's toys._

 _Lady Ylla changed my mind. She literally forced me to write this by giving me one of her very own plot bunnies! I am forever grateful for her and all of her Nevinsy fics for making me fall in love with this pairing! Thank you so much, friend!_

 _Lady Ylla was so kind to beta this fic for me, and any and all mistakes that appear are my own, and in no way a reflection of her fantastic skillz._

* * *

 **Mending**

 **Chapter one**

"Come _on_ , Professor Longbottom!" Teddy Lupin said in an exasperated tone.

For the third time.

Neville sighed. It's not that he didn't like Quidditch, he loved it. He just didn't like flying. Ever since he broke his wrist when he was a first year, he had been wary of brooms. He preferred to keep both feet planted firmly in the soil that helped grow his beloved plants.

"Please, Neville?" James Potter pleaded. Out of the corner of his eye, Neville saw James clasping his hands under his chin as if in prayer.

Turning around and brushing off his hands on his robes, Neville fixed young Mr. Potter with a stern glare.

"While we are within school grounds, you will address me as 'Professor Longbottom', got that, Potter?"

James rolled his eyes and muttered "yeah. Sure. Whatever."

"Don't make me owl your mother," Neville threatened, trying to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. James was so like his father is many, many ways. But the boy had his mother's attitude.

"Sorry, Professor Longbottom," James said in a clearer voice.

"Thank you," Neville said, turning back to the bench that held packets of seeds, watering cans, ceramic planting pots of all sizes, gloves, earmuffs (the second years would be starting Mandrakes soon), and a tangled assortment of trowels, hand rakes and pruning shears.

"Why exactly do you need me to practice Quidditch with you again?" Neville called over his shoulder as he tried to untangle a hand rake from a pruning shear.

"Cause our captain, who is also our Keeper, is in the hospital wing with a nasty cold. He has to take pepper-up potion every half hour. Besides," Neville could almost hear the grin in Teddy's voice. "Aunt Ginny said you were excellent at quidditch,"

Neville dropped the tangled rake and shears, narrowly missing piercing his foot with the point of the shears.

"She said _WHAT_?" He screeched.

Of course Ginny would think it would be a hilarious joke to tell her godson that Neville was an expert flyer. She wasn't there in first year when the old school broom bucked him off and he dropped to the ground shattering his wrist. Just because he had laughed in the face of the Carrows, lead an underground resistance, and sliced the head off of Voldemort's snake with the sword of Gryffindor didn't mean Neville was _fearless._

"I will _definitely_ be owling Ginny Potter tonight," he muttered under his breath, watching Teddy, James, Hugo, and the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team howl with laughter.

"Fine, FINE." He practically shouted over the noise. "I'll keep for you morons, but only for an hour or so. I _am_ a teacher, and I _do_ have actually work that needs to get done."

The team cheered and clapped, thrusting and extra broom in their favorite professor's hand and, half dragging Neville, made their way across the vegetable patch to the quidditch pitch.

* * *

Two hours later, and Neville was still, miraculously, in the air.

It seemed that Teddy actually felt a little bad about teasing Neville in front of the whole team, and did his best to make sure none of the chasers got close to scoring, so all Neville really had to do was hover in front of the goal posts and hope that he didn't slide off either end of the ancient Shooting Star that one of the chasers had dug out of the school broom shed.

But, Neville later reflected, as with most things in his life, things just couldn't go smoothly. One of the chasers (a third year girl, but Neville couldn't remember her name for the life of him) burst through the defensive formation and shot like a bullet straight towards the goalposts. Neville jerked the broom to the left to stop her, but the Shooting Star being ancient as it was, didn't respond quickly enough. The old broom gave a violent shudder, bucked wildly, and dropped like a boulder through the air.

Neville watched with wide eyes as the ground rushed at him a lot faster than he thought was possible. He gripped the handle of the broom, and gave a mighty wrench upwards, hoping to at least slow his mad descent back to earth. The broom didn't slow, and with a sickening _crunch_ , Neville and the broom hit the ground.

Neville must've blacked out, because one second the ground was rushing up towards him at an alarming speed, and the next second he was staring up into the scared faces of the Gryffindor quidditch team. He turned his head slightly, and noticed great wooden splinters and bits of twig surrounded him. The old school broom must have shattered on impact. Neville took a deep breath and tried to set up.

A mighty wave of pain washed over him, making him realize that the broom wasn't the only thing to shatter on impact with the hard packed earth of the pitch. Fighting down a rush of nausea, Neville slowly reached out a hand and twitched his dirt stained robes aside.

The surrounding quidditch team collectively sucked in a breath, and he nearly passed out from what he uncovered.

The bones of his lower leg were sticking out through his trousers. His knee was sitting at a strange angle to the rest of his leg, and blood pooled around the injury, soaking into the grass and staining his robes.

Neville wanted to faint. He wanted to throw up (Hugo was already doing that, one hand clutching his broom for support, one hand clutching his stomach). Looking up into the terrified, green tinged faces of the teenagers surrounding him, Neville pulled on every bit of training his seventh year at Hogwarts had taught him.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his face towards Teddy Lupin, the oldest student there. "Teddy, please send someone to the headmistress' office,"

Teddy nodded, white faced, and yelled over his shoulder. "James! Get McGonagall! Tell her it's urgent!"

Neville watched through the forest of legs as James, who was standing next to a still heaving Hugo, nodded to Teddy, swung a leg over his broom, and flew at lightning speed towards the castle.

Neville held his breath and pulled himself into a sitting position, doing his best to block out the excruciating pain radiating from his left leg.

"Professor, you should just lie still!" The third year chaser said tearfully, flapping her hands towards him.

"I'm all right, Beatrice," he said what he hoped was a strong voice.

At least he had finally remembered her name.

Teddy squatted down next to Neville, carefully bunching his robes in his fist to keep them from getting in the blood that still seeped from the wound.

"What else do you need me to do, Professor?" He asked, eyes wide with fear but jaw stubbornly set.

"I need my wand," Neville said, mopping his sweaty face with the sleeve of his robes.

Teddy rummaged one had around in the twigs and splinters that had once been a racing broom and handed Neville his (thankfully) still intact wand. Neville pointed it at his own leg and muttered a quick spell the staunch the bleeding. It was all he felt safe doing at the moment, having neither the practice nor experience in any kind of major healing spells.

His pain addled brain started to swim in memories he would have much rather stay forgotten; memories of Luna shakily muttering _episky_ as she pointed her wand at his broken fingers, his bloodied nose, his cracked jaw. Memories of Ginny producing white bandages from the end of her wand, wrapping them tightly around the wound over his right eye, the eight inch gash across his chest, the cut on his calf that oozed blood down his leg and into his shoe.

Pain had been a constant companion when he was seventeen. Hell, it had been his best friend for months while he stood up to the Carrows.

He fought through the pain then, and he would fight through it now.

Shaking his head to dislodge the memories from the forefront of his brain, Neville tried his best to calm the frightened students around him.

"It's fine, guys." He said, airily waving a hand and swallowing the bile that rose in his throat at the same time. "I've had worse,"

Beatrice and Magda were hugging each other, crying. Teddy was still squatting next to Neville, one hand on his shoulder. Hugo had stopped vomiting, but was still sitting next to the puddle of sick with an ashy face. The rest of the team was still pale faced and worried.

"Teddy! I got her!" Neville heard a shout. The team parted and he saw James running at full speed towards him, McGonagall hot in his heels. At 112, Minerva McGonagall could still keep up with her students that were a fraction of her age.

McGonagall skidded to a halt at Neville's feet. Her face, for once, wasn't set in hard angles and lines, but softened, her mouth slightly open, with two spots of color high on her cheeks from the run to the pitch. As her eyes swept from the splintered broom to his splintered leg, those high spots of color faded. She looked into his eyes, and he could see the ghost of seventh year dance through her mind too.

"Right," she snapped, drawing herself up and pulling out her wand. "All of you, go to the locker rooms, change back into your regular clothes and then go back to your common room. You too, Mr. Lupin. Mr. Potter, help Mr. Weasley along."

The students scrambled across the pitch, eager to get away from the blood and exposed bones.

McGonagall knelt next to Neville and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"This is going to hurt, Longbottom," she said, pointing her wand at his leg just below the knee. With a soft crunch, the exposed bone snapped back into place. Neville grunted in pain, and his vision swam for a moment. With another wave of her wand, McGonagall produced bandages and secured them tightly around his leg, from middle thigh to middle calf.

"Up you get, Longbottom," she said, gripping him tightly under one armpit and helping him stand. "This won't be easy, and it will be painful."

Neville gasped in pain, but did his best not to lean too heavily on the headmistress. Slowly, they made their way to the front of the castle. Neville had to take a break at the front steps, sinking down on to the cool stone. He wiped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his robes again and accepted the small glass of water McGonagall produced from her wand.

McGonagall sat down on the step next to him. "Are you sure you can make it up these steps, Neville?"

Neville looked at her. She very rarely used his first name, and when she did, he was either in trouble, or she was worried.

"I'm fine, Professor," he said, handing her back the empty glass, which she vanished with a quick wave of her wand. "But I don't think I will be able to make it all the way to the hospital wing," he admitted.

"I didn't plan on making you walk up even a single flight of stairs, Longbottom," she said briskly, half annoyed that he would even think that. "I am taking you to the closest teacher's office, where we will call on St. Mungo's. Once a healer has been notified, you will floo there to be treated. Miss Abbott is a fine matron, but I know of your history with her, and, well, I think it's best if you be sent to hospital."

Neville felt his face redden with embarrassment instead of pain. He had thought Hannah and himself had been discreet with their...affair. Neville refused to call it a relationship. He really didn't think that screaming rows, followed by weeks of the silent treatment, then vigorous and vocal make up sex hardly qualified as a relationship. He also thought that the _muffilito_ spell they cast on the door during their fights and the subsequent make up activities would work far better than it apparently did.

"I understand, Longbottom," McGonagall said quietly, staring out across the darkening grounds. "Everyone was trying to find some piece of comfort after the war. It was the same way the first time around,"

Neville looked at her sharply. He was expecting a reprimand, not...understanding.

"I think I'm ready to go up the steps, Professor," he finally said, more to break the awkward silence than actually being ready to tackle the stone steps.

"Right," McGonagall said, standing and brushing off her robes. She grasped his upper arm and helped heave him to his feet, surprising him with her strength again.

They slowly made their way up the stone steps and across the hall, turning down the cool stone corridor and stopping in front of the first floor divination classroom. McGonagall rapped sharply upon the Wood with her knuckles.

"Enter," came the slightly ethereal voice of the only centaur teacher Hogwarts had ever seen.

"Professor McGonagall, what can I help you with?" Firenze asked quietly, coming into view from behind one of the many trees that helped transform the former classroom into what appeared to be a small clearing in the middle of a forest.

"Professor Longbottom will need to use your fireplace to travel to St Mungo's," McGonagall informed him, helping Neville around a small pile of boulders and a tree stump.

"I see," replied Firenze, fixing his doleful eyes upon Neville.

"'Lo, Firenze," Neville said tiredly.

"Hello, Neville Longbottom," the centaur replied.

The centaur had warmed up towards the handful of students with whom he had fought beside during the Battle of Hogwarts. Since Neville had came back to teach after his short stint as an Auror, he had often found himself just sitting in a corner of Firenze's classroom between lessons, enjoying the quiet solitude without having to venture out into the actual forest.

"Follow the path, professors," Firenze said, sweeping his arm towards the small path between two large trees. "I keep the fire lit, but I am afraid I do not own any floo powder," the centaur gave them what Neville supposed was a wry grin.

"That's not a problem," McGonagall said, helping Neville across the clearing. "I have some with me,"

"Your jokes are getting better, Firenze," Neville chuckled as they passed the centaur. Firenze grinned, and inclined his head slightly.

The fireplace was set into the side of a large boulder, and, as the centaur had promised, it was ablaze and the flames were dancing merrily. McGonagall reached inside her robes and produced a small leather pouch. Untying the drawstring, she took a pinch of the glimmering powder and tossed it into the flames, shouting "St Mungo's!"

Instantly, the flames turned a bright emerald green, and with a faint _pop!_ The head of a bored looking witch with sandy hair was sitting in the center of the flames.

"Thank you for calling upon St Mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries, how can I help you?" The sandy haired witch said in an emotionless voice, popping her gum at the end of the sentence.

"I am looking for Healer Granger-Weasley," McGonagall said in a brisk voice.

The sandy haired welcome witch didn't even glance around. "One moment please," and with another small pop, she was gone.

A moment later, Hermione Granger-Weasley was stepping out of the fireplace, brushing soot off of her green healer's robes.

"Professor McGonagall, as soon as I realized the call was from Hogwarts I decided to just come on through! What's wrong? What's happened?" Hermione asked, glancing around. She froze, blinking, taking in her surroundings.

"Um...where are we?" She asked.

"First floor divination classroom. The one Firenze teaches," Neville said, leaning heavily against a tree, his breathing becoming labored, the pain in his knee becoming harder to ignore.

"Right," Hermione said, her voice almost sour. Despite the pain, Neville chuckled at her still obvious distaste of the subject.

"Neville!" Hermione yelped, once she finally tore her eyes away from the starry sky overhead and looked around. "What happened?!"

"Your sister-in-law thought it would be _hilarious_ to tell her godson, her actual son, and her nephew that I was an excellent flyer. They badgered me to keep for them during quidditch practice until I agreed. Let's just say, we really need to replace all the old school brooms with brand new ones," he looked at McGonagall, "I would be happy to cover the costs," he told her in all seriousness.

"I will personally see to it," McGonagall informed him, as Hermione bent down and moved his robes aside to examine his knee better.

"We had better get you to St Mungo's, this looks bad," Hermione said, standing and pulling Neville's arm around her own shoulder.

"Thank you, Professor," Neville said, as he limped past. "I am sorry to say you are going to have to find a substitute for a couple weeks,"

"Months," Hermione corrected him.

"Don't worry about it, Longbottom. It will be taken care of." McGonagall said. "Just focus on getting better,"

Hermione took a pinch of the glittering floo powder from the bag McGonagall offered her, threw it in the flames, and helped Neville over the grate to stand next to her. "St Mungo's!" She shouted, and the last thing Neville saw before he spun away was McGonagall stuffing the small pouch back into her robes, her face pinched in worry.

* * *

 _Be on the lookout for chapter two!_

 _I can be found on tumblr as kendrasowlpost_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello friends! I am back with chapter two! In this chapter we finally get to meet a certian someone! This chapter is a bit on the short side, but it is more of a bridge chapter, introducing the two main characters of this fic. I hope you all enjoy!_

 _A huge thank you to AMBERJANUS, LongumDeorsum, kiwihalloween10, mckydstarlight, Lady Ylla for the fantastic reviews!_

 _Once again, I express my gratitude to the amazing Lady Ylla for being so kind and giving me this fantastic plot bunny, and for going over this chapter and fixing any mistakes I made and for invaluable ideas and constructive critisism! You are simply the best, my dear!_

 _Any and all mistakes that appear in this chapter are my own._

* * *

 **Mending**

 **Chapter two**

Neville had never been more thankful for Hermione in his entire life, including all the times she had saved his ass in potions class over their years at school. He knew that if it wasn't for her, when they stopped spinning past fireplace after fireplace too quickly to make out any details, he would've landed smack on his face in the emergency room waiting area and probably would have broken his nose at the very least.

As it were, once they did finally come to a stop, Neville wobbled on his one good leg, and his stomach threatened to betray him all over the floor. Swallowing back the bile that tried to force its way into his mouth, Neville fell into the rickety wooden chair closest to the fireplace.

While Hermione rushed off to find a wheelchair, Neville surveyed the emergency waiting room, taking in all the exits first (old habits die hard, even after fifteen years), and then took in all the witches and wizards that were waiting to be seen by the healing staff.

There was a witch that hiccupped large pink bubbles every couple of seconds, an old warlock with what appeared to be a fern growing out of his left ear, a stressed looking witch holding her young son, who was a bright shade of blue, and a wizard leaning against the wall reading a scroll of parchment, with what appeared to be a long yellow lions tail protruding from a split in the back of his robes. As Neville watched, the tail twitched in agitation to whatever it was the wizard was reading.

Neville had a love/hate relationship with St. Mungo's. Nearly all of his youth and a good part of his adult life was spent on the fourth floor, spending holidays and summer breaks in a room on the permanent spell damage ward. He loved his parents, even if they hadn't the slightest clue that he was their son; but when they had passed, peacefully in their sleep when Neville was twenty-six, he was ashamed to feel as if a weight had lifted off his chest. His holidays were his own again, and no longer had to be spent in a stuffy hospital room with an overbearing grandmother, and a mother and father who didn't know him. But that first Christmas after his parents died, Neville found himself at a loss of what to do. His grandmother had had Christmas tea, but with Augusta Longbottom was getting on in years, and wanted to turn in by six in the evening. Neville was surprised when Harry and Ginny turned up to his apartment, where he was nibbling on a lonely piece of fruitcake, and dragged him along to the Burrow for a large Christmas feast with the Weasleys. Neville spent a happy evening playing games with his friends young children, holding a small Lily in his arms, and graciously accepting a green hand knitted jumper from Mrs. Weasley.

"Here we are Neville," Hermione said, coming up next to him pushing an old fashioned wicker wheelchair. She helped Neville get settled and then pushed him through the waiting room doors and down a long hallway.

"We are going to my office first, for a quick look at what's under the wrappings and for you to tell me exactly what happened, then we will set you up in a private room," Hermione explained, stopping in front of a wooden door with a silver plaque on it halfway down the hall.

" _Hermione Granger-Weasley, head healer in experimental medicine,_ " Neville read from the plaque as Hermione unlocked the door with a flick of her wand. "Not bad, 'Mione," he grinned at her.

"I've been trying to incorporate some muggle medicine and healing techniques since I got the job here after I did my bit for the ministry," she explained, pushing him into the office and in front of her desk.

He knew she worked at St Mungo's, but she never really talked about what exactly it was that she did here. Saturday night dinner conversation was usually populated with talk of Ginny's quidditch matches, Ron and George's new items in the joke shop, Harry's dealings with the new auror recruits, or the children. Hermione rarely talked about her patients, although she usually had a new story or two about Gilderoy Lockhart if she was on that ward's rotation that week.

"Muggle medicine? How is that going over?" He asked, now that he wasn't putting weight on his broken leg, the pain was easier to control.

"Not as well as I would've hoped, but I'm not being shot down completely either. Being a war hero does have its benefits," she scoffed. "Now," she flicked her wand at her quill, and it stood at attention atop a piece of parchment. "Tell me what happened,"

As Neville recounted the quidditch practice and the fall, the quill on Hermione's desk skated across the parchment at top speed, recording everything Neville said. When he got to the part about his leg bone tearing straight through his skin and trousers, Hermione came around the desk and peeled back the bandages.

"Neville!" She gasped. "How are you not writhing in pain? How are you just sitting there, talking to me calmly, as if we were having tea?!"

"I've had a lot of practice blocking out pain, 'Mione," he shrugged.

Hermione sat back on her heels, and looked at him skeptically. "Your bone _snapped in two_ , and tore right through your skin and trousers. That's not some sprained wrist or broken finger, Neville."

"It's not the Cruciatus Curse either, Hermione," he reminded her quietly.

He watched as her face paled for a moment, and Neville knew that memories of the war were flashing through her mind.

"I try to forget about things like that, Neville," she whispered. "I try not to let the war interfere with the now."

"I try not to either. But some things don't just disappear because we pretend they didn't happen," he reminded her.

Sighing, Hermione got to her feet, flicked her wand at the quill to stop it writing, and tore off the bottom section of the parchment.

"I'm going to put you in the new wing of the hospital," she said, businesslike again. "Where we are mixing magical and muggle healing practices. I will mend your bones and muscles back together. I want to try something new with the skin though. Don't worry, it's safe," she assured him, noticing the skeptical look on his face. "But you will also have to do several weeks of physical rehab. Just because magic can make your bones and go back together, doesn't mean it will make you good as new. That will take time and exercise,"

Neville sighed. He knew that there would be more to this than swallowing a dose of Skele-gro and poking the wound with a wand.

"Skele-gro tastes terrible anyway," he said, waving a hand through the air as if it didn't really matter to him.

"I agree," said Hermione, coming around the desk and unlocking the brakes on the wheelchair. "You will be staying in room 16. It's a private room, so you won't have to worry about sharing; or people gawking at you,"

"Thanks for that," he said as they turned into the small room.

After getting into the bed, Hermione helped him get his robes off and then she pulled a screen around his bed.

"Catch," she said, tossing a standard issue hospital gown over the top of the screen. "I'm afraid you pants are a loss, Neville. They are going to have to be cut away to fix your leg. Hope you weren't too fond of them,"

"Nah," he said, peeling off his T-shirt and pulling on the hospital gown. He really wasn't. They were an old pair that hung loose and had to be held up with a thick belt.

Hermione came around the screen holding a glass of golden potion in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.

"Take this; it's for a dreamless, painless sleep." She said, handing him the potion. "When you wake up, your leg will be mended, and then you can start the physical therapy tomorrow,"

"Cheers," Neville said, swallowing the golden potion in two gulps.

He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

* * *

Neville woke to the sound of someone humming quietly. The tune sounded familiar, and for one heart-stopping moment Neville thought he was back on the permanent spell damage ward, dozing off in the armchair next to his mother's bed. His mother might not recognize him as her son, but she knew that the young man came to see her regularly, and would sometimes hum softly as he sat next to her, unsure of what to say, or lost in his own thoughts.

Neville wrenched his eyes open, and realized he wasn't in the permanent ward, but in a generic hospital room. The walls were a pale cream color, and the drapes and duvet were both a pale blue. Stifling a yawn, Neville turned his head to see where the quiet humming was coming from.

A small witch, maybe five foot three, was filling out a chart with her back to him. She had straight black hair cut into a stylish bob, and wore the navy blue robes of a healer's assistant.

"Ah, awake at last, Mr. Longbottom," the witch said, barely turning her head to glance in his direction.

"How long was I o-o-out?" Neville asked around a yawn.

"36 hours," the witch responded, setting down her chart and quill. "But don't worry; we will have you up and walking around on your own in no time!" She promised, finally turning to give Neville her full attention.

Neville stared at the young witch with wide eyes and open mouth.

"Parkinson!" He gasped, jerking back from her gaze and causing a shock of pain to shoot up his leg.

"Yes?" Pansy asked, lifting a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Neville yelped.

He watched her eyes travel from his face to his exposed chest where the hospital gown was open, to his hands clenched in fists on his lap, to his injured leg that was bare from hip to foot.

"I'm your physical therapist," she smirked.

"No." He said flatly, clenching his jaw and shaking his head.

"Uh, yes." Pansy said, raising both her eyebrows and planting her hands on her hips.

"No." He repeated, yanking the covers off himself and gingerly swinging his legs off the narrow hospital bed. "Nope. Not happening," he continued, grabbing the guardrail of the bed and pulling him into a standing position.

"What the hell are you doing, Longbottom?!" Pansy shrieked, running to his side. "You have got to get back in bed!"

"What I've got to do is get the hell out of this damned hospital!" Neville shot back through gritted teeth.

"What do you plan on doing? Running down the halls, out the front door and through London in your pants?" She asked coolly, nodding to his attire.

Neville looked down to see that he was, in fact, dressed only in a pair of boxer briefs and a flimsy hospital gown on back to front that was hanging open to reveal his underwear and nothing else.

Neville yanked the gown closed and took a shaky step towards the door. Pain flared up his leg, through his hip and settled in his stomach, causing bile to almost erupt from his mouth. Pansy reached out her hands to help steady him, but he jerked away with a hiss.

"Don't touch me!" He growled, over balancing and landing with a thump on the bed.

"Fine!" Pansy said, throwing her hands into the air and rolling her eyes. "What DO you want me to do?"

"Get Hermione," Neville said, teeth gritted in pain instead of anger this time.

"You do know that she's the head healer on this ward, right?" Pansy scoffed. "She is very busy, even for one of her old war hero mates,"

"Then just get out!" Neville shouted, causing Pansy to flinch away from him. The action was so minute, that Neville was sure nearly anybody else would've missed it. But he saw it, and an unwelcome curl of regret settled in his nauseated stomach.

"Neville?" He heard Hermione's voice call from right outside the door. Neville tore his eyes away from Pansy to see Hermione standing in the door frame now, eyebrows knitted with confusion.

"What in the name of Merlin is all the shouting about?" She asked, looking from Neville to Pansy.

"How in the bloody hell could you let her work here-?"

"He's being difficult-!"

"She's the absolute WORST person to have around sick people-!"

"He tried to walk right out of the room like he didn't have a bloody bone sticking out of his leg two days ago-!"

"Stop! STOP!" Hermione shouted, looking wide-eyed between the two of them. "Please stop talking over one another! Pansy? What happened?"

Pansy shot an angry look at Neville before facing Hermione. "The patient was surprised to see that it was I who would be assisting in his physical rehabilitation, and has angrily refused my services." She said in an overly professional tone. "I apologize for the shouting, Healer Granger-Weasley. I let my emotions get the better of me."

Neville stared at Pansy Parkinson as if he had never quite seen anything like her before. The woman standing in front of him was not the sneering, loud mouthed Slytherin who had tried to sell his mate out to the darkest wizard of all time just to save her own neck. Because, unless Neville was sorely mistaken, Pansy Parkinson just _apologized_ to Hermione Granger.

"I told you to call me Hermione, Pansy," Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

"All the same, I'm sorry for the shouting, Hermione," Pansy said, dropping her professional tone and sounding exasperated once more.

"I understand," Hermione said, running a hand through her bushy hair in frustration.

"What the BLOODY HELL is going on here?!" Neville shouted, thoroughly confused and unable to stand it any longer.

"Would you excuse us, Pansy?" Hermione asked.

"Sure," Pansy muttered, walking from the room, her back straight and not sparing a glance for Neville.

"Hermione, what the hell?" Neville asked again, a little quieter this time. He wouldn't put it past the sneaky witch to be eavesdropping outside the door.

"What do you mean 'what the hell'?" Hermione snapped at Neville, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at him. "Pansy is the best damn physical therapist St Mungo's has,"

"I don't give a damn if she is the best in the world! What possessed you to actually hire her?!" Neville hissed. He cast his mind around to try to find an infraction that would prove that Pansy Parkinson was the worst person to hire. "She tried to sell out Harry!" Neville said in fierce triumph, satisfied that he had reminded Hermione of what a horrible person Parkinson was.

"That was FIFTEEN YEARS AGO!" Hermione's voice was filled with a quiet frustration. "People do change, Neville. No." She raised a hand when Neville opened his mouth to furiously argue. "When was the last time you even spoke to Pansy? Or better yet, when was the last time you even heard anything about her?"

Neville closed his mouth and blinked. Now that Hermione had mentioned it, he hadn't heard anything about Pansy Parkinson in almost...fifteen years. He dropped his eyes to his hands, which were still clenched in anger.

"That's what I thought," Hermione said quietly. "You know nothing of her life these past fifteen years. She really has changed. Did you know Harry has forgiven her for what she did when we were _seventeen_?"

Neville still refused to meet Hermione's eyes.

"We were children fighting a war that most adults wouldn't even take part in. We all made mistakes. Some of them left scars-" she nodded towards Neville's once again exposed chest, where an eight inch scar roped across his left pectoral; a souvenir from Amycus Carrow. "And some of them followed us around like a storm cloud. Don't be so quick to judge someone so harshly, Neville."

Neville finally looked up into Hermione's face.

"You've always been so smart, 'Mione," he sighed.

"Some one had to be," she smiled back. She pulled a small bottle from the inside of her robes. "I brought you some pain relieving potion," she sat the bottle on Neville's bedside table. "Pansy is going to be your physical therapist while you are here. I don't expect you two to become best mates, but I do expect for you to show her the respect she deserves as a medical professional," she said, giving him one of her patented no nonsense looks.

"What has she done to make you believe she has really changed?" Neville asked as Hermione helped him get comfortable again.

"She told me exactly what she has been up to these past fifteen years," Hermione answered, straightening his duvet and uncorking the small potion bottle.

"What _has_ she been doing?" Neville asked, accepting the potion from Hermione and swallowing it in one pull.

Hermione took the potion bottle back and replaced the cork. When she answered, it sounded as if she chose her words very carefully.

"That is between her and me. She told me in complete confidence," she looked at Neville's annoyed expression. "I expect that if she wants you to know, she will tell you on her own,"

Hermione placed the empty bottle back inside her robes and peeled the bandages from Neville's leg. Through his anger he was surprised to see a large red gash held together with black stitches.

"Did you _sew_ my skin together?" He asked, shocked.

"I told you I was trying muggle healing techniques," Hermione said, picking up Neville's chart. She gave it a quick once over before placing it back on the table.

"In one week's time, if the skin isn't mending properly, we will use magic instead. I want to see the effects magical blood has on muggle stitches," she explained, wrapping the bandages around his leg again.

"So I'm your test subject?" He asked.

"More or less," she smiled.

"Glad I could help," he grinned back.

"I am going to send Pansy back in here to begin the first part of your rehabilitation," Hermione informed him, her smile fading. "You will be civil. She is excellent at what she does, and you will greatly benefit from her therapies,"

Neville just nodded his head and settled back on his pillows, hoping that the pain relieving potion would take affect sooner rather than later.

* * *

 _And that is chapter two! I am hoping to upload chapter three on Thursday. Monday at the latest! Be on the lookout!_

 _I can be found on tumblr as kendrasowlpost!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello friends! I am finally back with chapter three!_

 _I just want to preface this chapter by saying that I know literally nothing about physical therapy, and I apologize for any mistakes I may have made._

 _Thanks again the Lady Ylla for looking this over for me, you're ideas are, as always, amazing, and this fic couldn't happen with out my friend!_

 _any and all grammatical mistakes are my own._

* * *

 **Chapter three**

Pansy waited outside of Hermione's office, tapping her foot in annoyance.

This happened every time one of the bloody war heroes did something stupid and had to be brought into St Mungos for treatment. They would see her there, just trying to do her job, and would completely fly off the handle.

She had thought that Potter or Weasley would be the worst, but after a shocked double take, Harry sat in silence while Pansy assisted in mending his broken arm. When she was done, he looked at her for several long moments before thanking her politely and taking his leave.

Ron Weasley, on the other hand, looked as if he would like to have said quite a lot-if it wasn't for the fact that Hermione was his wife and giving him a look that told him to keep his mouth shut as she siphoned blood from his broken nose.

Ginny had actually went for her wand before Hermione had pulled her to the side and had a hushed conversation with the fiery red head. When the two returned, Ginny sat on the exam table, quietly glaring at Pansy as Hermione finished fixing her broken hand before leaving the room without a word or a backwards glance.

The handful of times Pansy had seen them outside of the hospital, doing her shopping alone in Diagon Alley or picking up take away for one from the Leaky Cauldron, they had politely said hello in passing.

Neville Longbottom has taken her by surprise. She had expected indifference, at most. Not outright hostility.

But then again, she did bully him in school. And try to sell out one of his best mates to the Dark Lord.

And had stood idly by while the Carrows cruelly punished him for majority of their seventh year.

Hermione's arrival brought an end to Pansy's thoughts. The bushy haired witch looked annoyed as she stalked down the hall, snapping out orders to other healers as she passed.

"He's ready to begin his rehabilitation, Pansy," Hermione said as she came to a stop in front of her office door. "And I promise he will be civil from now on,"

"You don't have to fight my battles for me, Hermione," Pansy said. "I deserve whatever it is they have to say to me,"

"You've changed, Pansy." Hermione said, her tone softer than it was before. "Everyone else has forgiven you, Neville can learn to do that too,"

"We'll see," Pansy said with a grimace before she turned to head back to room 16.

"Pansy?" Hermione called after her. Pansy turned. "I consider you a close friend. And I don't like when a friend of mine is being mistreated. If he's rude, just let me know."

Pansy nodded, and with a small grin continued to Neville's room.

Pansy peeked around the door frame and found Neville laying back on the pillows, one arm laid across his eyes, his injured leg still uncovered. She took the time to finally get a proper look at him.

The first thing Pansy had noticed was that he had definitely changed in the years since the war. Gone was the timid, accident prone boy who hid a spine of steel beneath hideous jumpers. In his place stood a man who had been tried by the fire of war and came out stronger, sure of himself...hardened. Gone was the boy who genuinely smiled and laughed with his friends, and in his place was a lonely teacher, whose smile no longer reached his eyes.

Pansy wondered if his friends were too busy with work and their children and life in general to notice.

"Are you going to hover in the doorway or are you going to come in here?" Neville growled, causing Pansy to jump. "The sooner we get this started the sooner it will be over and your company will no longer be forced on me."

Pansy has forgotten that this man had led a resistance and worked as an Auror before becoming a teacher. Of course he would know what was going on in the room around him without even opening his eyes.

Pansy cleared her throat and marched to his bedside.

"Alright, Longbottom," she said trying to infuse her her voice with an acidity she didn't actually feel. "If that's how you are going to be, let's get started."

Pulling a sheaf of parchment from her robes, she gave him the outline of what his therapy would involve, keeping her tone as bored as she could. As she continued to read, she became more and more agitated.

"Are you even listening?!" She snapped, slamming her stack of parchment down on his bedside table.

"Of course. What makes you think I'm not listening?" Neville asked, still not removing his arm from his eyes.

"You're not even looking at me!" She exclaimed, exasperated.

Finally removing his arm from his eyes, he fixed her with a glower. "Just because I'm not looking at you doesn't mean I'm not listening," he snapped, sounding equally as frustrated.

They glared at each other for a few minutes until Pansy took a deep breath, closing her eyes and letting it out slowly.

"I apologize, Mr. Longbottom," she said stiffly. "May I continue?"

Neville waved his hand in a vague gesture and lay back, placing his arm over his eyes again.

Now he was just being obnoxious on purpose.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy continued. Once she got to the end of the therapy outline, she stacked her pieces of parchment back together and tucked them back in her robes.

"I will be back in an hour," she informed him. "We will go down the hall to the therapy room to begin the first session,"

Neville, arm still thrown over his eyes, lifted a hand in acknowledgment, but stayed silent.

With one final glare for her rude patient, Pansy turned on heel and marched from the room, fuming.

* * *

Neville removed his arm from over his eyes and struggled into a sitting position the moment he heard her march from the room.

Hermione had said not to be rude, and Neville knew that if he looked Pansy in the face for too long, he would be reminded of what had happened his seventh year. He would be reminded of Pansy standing off to the side of the torture chamber that the Carrows had the nerve to call a classroom and watch as the twisted siblings took turns slicing through his skin with curses, burning him with the end of their wands, or becoming so frustrated with his refusal to join their ranks or give up his friends whereabouts that they cast aside their wands and barbarically beat him within an inch of his life.

Pansy might not have joined in on their torture, but she didn't step in to try and stop it either.

The rational part of Neville's mind whispered that she was just as terrified as everyone else, doing whatever she could to survive. But Neville was too angry to be rational.

In the years following the war, Neville had befriended a fair number of Slytherins; as strange as it is to imagine, he counts Draco Malfoy a friend. Perhaps not a close friend, but close enough that Draco sometimes made an appearance at Saturday night dinner gatherings. After learning exactly why Draco did what he did during the war, it was far easier to forgive him, and that forgiveness led to a friendship Neville never thought he would have.

So, after finding out why Pansy did what she did during the war, why couldn't Neville just forgive her too? Surely the activities (or lack there of) of a frightened seventeen year old girl could be excused? Weren't they all just trying to survive the best way they knew how?

Neville closed his eyes and groaned. If he was being honest with himself, he had forgiven her years ago, around the same time as he had forgiven Draco, for what she had done in terror. Hermione had been right; they had all made mistakes during the war. Some mistakes had faded from peoples minds, and others wedged themselves so firmly into everyone's memories that they had become a part of life.

So why was it so hard to forgive this one woman?

* * *

Neville was still fighting with his thoughts and memories when Pansy stomped back into the room. Her shoulders were tense and her expression stormy when she came to a halt next to his bed.

"It is time to take you to the therapy room for your first session, Mr. Longbottom," she said rather stiffly, her back poker straight, her gaze fixed somewhere above his right ear.

Neville looked at her for a moment, and decided to at least heed Hermione's advice and be civil. They didn't have to be best mates after all.

And the sooner his healing began, the sooner he could wash his hands of her.

"As you wish, Miss Parkinson," Neville said, as politely as he could.

Pansy narrowed her eyes but didn't meet his gaze. She waved her wand at a small closet on the opposite side of the room, and a wheelchair rolled out and came to a stop next to her.

"I was worried you were going to make me walk," Neville said, genuinely relieved that he wouldn't be asked to stand on his bad leg too soon.

"Don't be ridiculous," Pansy muttered, folding the blanket to the foot of his bed. She hesitantly held a hand towards him, and with an apologetic look, Neville placed his hand in hers, allowing her to help him to sit on the edge.

Pansy held his hand and his elbow in a surprisingly strong grip, and helped him stand and shuffle around to sit in the wheelchair.

Once Neville was situated in the chair, Pansy tied his hospital gown closed and pushed him out the door and down the hallway. He could feel her anger washing over him as easily as he could hear her rubber soled shoes squeaking on the floor.

Neville fidgeted with the tie on his hospital gown, wanting to get the session over with so he could send an owl to Harry and ask his advice on the situation. If anyone had experience forgiving and forgetting, it would be Harry Potter.

"Watch your elbows," Pansy snapped as they approached the door at the end of the hall.

Still angry, then, Neville noted, trying his best to tuck his six foot four inch frame into the small wheelchair.

Pansy waved her wand at the door and it sprang open the moment before they reached it. She pushed the chair into the room and slammed the door behind her.

Neville looked around the room, taking in the padded athletic table, the waist high parallel bars, the netting that held back exercise balls of every size, and the shelves stocked with resistance bands, athletic tape and dumbbells.

"What are we going to do today?" Neville asked a bit nervously.

"Not much, Mr. Longbottom," Pansy answered, her tone as stiff as her back.

She snatched the chart hanging from the back of the wheelchair and came around to face him.

"This first week will be a lot of sitting exercises," she began, flipping through the pages of his chart. "Range of motion tests, stretches, that sort of thing. Next week, if all goes well and Hermione decides to stop experimenting with those ridiculous stitches, you will move on to balancing-" she waved an arm vaguely in the direction of the exercise balls. "-and incorporating the stretches you learn this week along with that. Of course you would know all of this if you had actually been listening to the outline earlier,"

"How long will I be in rehabilitation?" Neville interrupted her.

Pansy glared at him before answering. "As long as it takes to get you walking on your own again with minimal discomfort," she said. "Let's hope for both our sakes that you heal quickly,"

Neville looked at her, keeping his expression neutral. "Thank Merlin I have a high pain tolerance," he said evenly.

Pansy stared at him andNeville knew she was thinking about those hours spent with the Carrows.

"Let's get started," she said quietly.

She had Neville move from the wheelchair to a straight backed wooden chair. Sitting herself on a low stool on rollers before him, she helped him straighten his bad leg out completely. After giving him a moment to adjust, she had him start to bend the knee slowly, stopping him frequently. Her small fingers felt the bones and muscles of his leg, putting slight pressure on the sore spots, helping him adjust to the new angle.

After forty five minutes and his knee bent only a few degrees, Neville looked up, breathing through his nose, trying to control the pain that had began to seep through the numbness of the potion Hermione had given him. For the first time he noticed that the far wall was completely covered in a mirror.

To distract himself from the pain, he focused on his reflection. His light brown hair was in need of a cut; it had begun to curl behind his ears, and at the back of his neck. He could just make out the scar over his right eye and the stubble across his jaw. He looked ridiculous in the pale green hospital gown, the color washing his skin out and making him look ill. He would need to figure out how to get some of his own clothing to the hospital.

Then his eyes fell on the reflection of the back of Pansy's head. The glow from the light filled bubbles that gathered on the ceiling caught her raven strands and made them dance with reddish streaks when she moved her head. For the first time since she had turned around in his room and he had yelled at her, her shoulders seemed relaxed, her back wasn't as stiff.

Neville took his eyes off the mirror and instead looked at her face. Her brows were drawn together in concentration, and her lips pouted slightly and she poked and prodded his knee and leg.

But it was her violet eyes that held his attention. Her eyes looked softer than he could ever remember seeing them, and there was something hiding just out of reach behind them that felt familiar in the vaguest sense.

"Are you okay?" She asked, pushing slightly low on his shin, urging him to bend his knee just a little more.

"Hmm? Oh, yes," he said, blinking and looking at his leg.

"Any pain?" She asked.

"No more than when we first entered this room," Neville answered.

"Then I think we should stop there for the day," she said, slowly straightening his leg back out.

"I felt as if we haven't done anything," Neville said, flexing his toes and scratching around the bandage on his thigh.

"Physical rehabilitation is a slow process, Mr. Longbottom," Pansy said, pulling a crumpled quill out of her pocket and scribbling a note on his chart. "But you did well today,"

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," Neville said, hoisting himself back into the wheelchair.

Pansy looked at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

"You're welcome," she said softly, looking back at the chart.

Pansy hung the chart on the back of the wheelchair, unlocked the brakes, and pushed him out of the room and down the hall.

"How do I request an owl?" He asked as he was wheeled past room after room. "I have a couple of letters I would like to send,"

"I'll bring you the proper forms," she said, her tone stiff and overly professional now that they were back in the hallway.

"Thank you," Neville said, forgetting to tuck his elbows in and banging one hard on the doorframe of his room.

"You're welcome," Pansy replied.

He swore he could hear the smirk in her voice.

* * *

 _I hope you you enjoyed the chapter! I will try to get chapter four posted as soon as possible! I can also be found on tumblr as kendrasowlpost!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello friends! Here is chapter four!_

 _A huge thank you to Lady Ylla for her unwavering assistance, your ideas are always golden!_

 _Flashbacks are in italics._

 _any and all mistakes that appear are my own._

* * *

 **Mending**

 **chapter 4**

Neville was sitting in the armchair next to his hospital bed writing a letter to his grandmother when he heard a knock on the door. Looking up, he was surprised to see Harry Potter standing in the doorway.

Harry looked much like he always did, a little on the short side, but the thinness of his youth had given way to leanness, thanks to years of physical activity that came with being an Auror.

"Harry!" Neville exclaimed. "I'm surprised to see you here!"

"I thought I would answer your letter in person," Harry said with a bit of a grin. "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, please do," Neville said, picking up his wand and conjuring another armchair out of thin air.

Once Harry was settled, he fixed Neville with a concerned look. "What's going on, Nev?"

"You read my letter," Neville answered, shifting uncomfortably.

"Yes, I did," said Harry. "And I'm honestly surprised that you asked my advice..."

"What the bloody hell do you mean, _you're surprised_?" Neville asked, disbelief coloring his voice.

"Seriously?" Harry scoffed. "I've taken my cues from you since the war. Do you not remember me asking your advice about Malfoy? Or what about the ministry? Hell, I wouldn't have even been able to forgive myself if it hadn't been for you!"

"What do you mean, taking cues from me? I didn't do anything-" Neville began, confused, before Harry cut him off.

"Yes, you did!" He insisted. "I talked to you about those things just as much as I talked to Ron or Hermione about them. You're the poster child for forgiveness." Harry rolled his eyes at Neville's blank stare and explained: "Why do you think me or Ron or Hermione or Ginny or any of us never accepted a position at Hogwarts? You know McGonagall has been owling me at least twice a year since the war ended to fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. She's asked all of us to at least come in for guest lectures and we all turn it down. The only one who has ever taken her up on the offer of a teaching position is you. And you did so knowing full well that you would be teaching the children of Death Eaters, or the children of old enemies, like Draco's son, Scorpius. And not once have you been unfair to them. You have had every reason to, but you treat every student just as you treat my children. You don't let old injustices or who the students parents might be get in the way of your teaching. You forgave everyone any past misdeeds the moment you accepted the job at Hogwarts."

Neville stared at Harry, trying to process what he had just told him. Neville had never thought of it the way Harry had put it. He mostly treated every student fairly because he himself knew what it felt like to be called out for his weaknesses in front of his peers. He didn't care that Snape turned out to be a good guy, he swore to himself that he would never treat a student the way Snape had treated him. But to say that Neville was so good at forgiving people that Harry himself looked to him for advice on the matter came as something of a shock to Neville. Well, he thought, I must not be all that good because just the sight of Pansy Parkinson still makes my blood boil...

"Then how come I can't forgive her?" Neville asked quietly.

"Maybe it's not her you need to forgive, Nev," Harry said, standing from his armchair.

Neville looked down at his hands.

"I'll give Ginny and the kids your love," Harry said, making his way to the door.

Neville nodded, absentmindedly, lost in the turmoil of his thoughts.

* * *

"Here you go, Longbottom," Pansy said, entering Neville's room the next morning holding a small stack of clothes.

"What is it?" Neville asked, eyeing the clothes with suspicion.

"Looks like… rugby shorts… a T-shirt… and some clean underwear," Pansy said, holding up each item as she unfolded it.

Neville narrowed his eyes at her. "Where did you get my clothes?"

"Hermione," Pansy answered. "From what I understand, Harry told Ginny he had been to see you and Ginny went to your rooms at Hogwarts to collect some of your clothes so you would have something more comfortable and less revealing to wear than a hospital gown."

Neville looked down. The hospital gown was on backwards , like a bathrobe, and open to reveal his scarred chest.

"Yeah, well," he tugged the gown closed. "You can just leave them on the table, Parkinson."

Pansy's eyebrows drew together in annoyance.

"You know you still can't stand or put any weight or pressure on that leg without assistance," she said, refolding and sitting the stack of clothes on his bedside table.

Neville glowered at her.

"Of course I can't," he sighed, frustrated.

"Would you like some help?" She offered carefully.

Neville nodded mutely, and didn't meet her eyes.

Sighing at the stubbornness of the man, Pansy grabbed the clothes and walked over to the bed. Folding the covers back to the foot of the bed, she picked up the rugby shorts.

"Scoot over to the edge of the bed, and let your legs hang over the side. We will start with the shorts," she informed him.

Neville did as was instructed, and Pansy knelt in front of him, helping him slide his bare legs into the shorts.

She tried not to notice how toned they were, how the muscles danced under the skin as he moved.

"What are you looking at?" Neville asked, causing Pansy to jump slightly.

"Your wound," she lied, tearing her gaze away from the scar on his right calf to the bandages around his left knee.

"Pretty sure you were looking at the wrong leg," Neville muttered.

"It's time to stand," she said loudly, her face flushed red. She had worked the shorts up to just over his knees, taking care not to touch his injury. "This is going to be difficult, especially since I know you are sore from yesterday's therapy session," she said, standing.

"I'm fine," Neville said in a strong voice.

"Of course you are," Pansy said distractedly-for Neville had just shrugged off his hospital gown and was sitting bare chested .

Pansy couldn't help it, her eyes raked a path up his muscled arms, across his broad shoulders, and down his toned chest.

She took in every scar: the eight inch one that roped across his left pectoral, the three thin ones across his right ribs, and the handful of small circular ones peppered across his defined abdomen that looked curiously like burns.

Neville noticed what she was looking at and brushed one hand across his chest, while the other reached for his T-shirt.

"Sorry," Pansy muttered, silently chiding herself for staring at a man's bare chest like a horny teenager instead of the impartial trained medical professional she was.

"Yeah," Neville said, keeping his eyes averted from hers, gripping the T-shirt in his fist.

Pansy helped him to his feet, and adjusted the rugby shorts around his hips. Keeping a steady grip on his arm as he shakily lowered himself back to the bed, she tried to break the awkward silence.

"I like scars," she blurted.

"What?" Neville's eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

"I like scars," Pansy repeated. "They tell stories,"

Neville looked at her, his expression unreadable. Pansy flushed, color rising to settle in her cheeks under his stare.

Finally, Neville spoke, his voice low; almost a whisper. "You were there when most of these stories were written."

Pansy felt the color drain from her face. Her eyes darted back down to the knitted scar across his chest. A memory she thought was locked tightly in a dark corner, tucked away forever, surfaced unbidden in her mind:

 _Pansy was seventeen again, standing in the hellish torture chamber that used to be her Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom_.

 _She didn't want to be there. She wanted to run as far away from the dimly lit room as she could, not stopping until the smell of blood had left her nostrils and the sound of muffled screams no longer fell on her ears._

 _Neville Longbottom was bound to a chair again today, his arms held behind him with thick black ropes._

 _When would the stupid Gryffindor learn to just stay out of the way? She thought, watching the cords in his neck stand out as he held in another scream from the Cruciatus Curse that was being used on him._

 _"TELL US WHERE THE REST OF YOU ARE HIDING!" Alecto Carrow screamed._

 _"Never." Neville replied through gritted teeth, his voice much stronger than Pansy expected._

 _Amycus Carrow let out a snarl, and slashed his wand through the air violentl, causing a large gash to open up on Neville's chest, soaking his shirt with blood._

Pansy blinked. She couldn't believe she had forgotten how he had received that scar.

Hesitantly, she reached out a hand as if touch it.

"Don't," Neville whispered, grabbing her wrist.

"Neville, I'm sorry-" Pansy started, horrified. "It was a long time ago," he said, letting go of her wrist and jerking his T-shirt over his head, refusing to meet her eyes again.

Pansy backed away, curling her hands into fists held closely to her chest.

"I- I have a scar in the shape of a bullseye on my thigh," She prattled quickly, stumbling over her words in her haste to say something- anything- to relieve the tension that hung thick in the air. "I sat on a camp stove a few summers ago, and- and it burned right through my jeans. Ruined the- the whole holiday..." she trailed off into silence.

"Can we postpone the therapy for a bit?" Neville asked finally, scratching around the top of the bandage on his leg. "I'd like to rest for an hour or two,"

Pansy nodded, unclenching her hands and smoothing them down her robes.

Neville lay back on the pillows and threw an arm over his eyes.

Clearly, she was dismissed.

Pansy hurried from the room without a word. She didn't trust herself to speak. She sprinted down the hallway, not stopping until she reached a broom cupboard. Wrenching the door open, she threw herself inside, slamming the door behind her and flinging locking and silencing charms on it with her wand.

She lowered herself onto a box of Mrs. Skower's all purpos e magical mess remover , and cried.

She felt wretched. Of course she was there when he got most of those scars. She had stood idly by while the Carrows had used him as practice for their twisted Dark Arts class. Watched as they flung curse after curse at him, listened to his growls of rage, his moans as he tried to hold in the screams of pain. She had averted her eyes as he limped, bloody and broken from the room, only to end up in the same place again and again, always leaving with some new injury and renewed determination in his eyes.

No wonder the man couldn't forgive her.

She could barely begin to forgive herself.

* * *

 _Neville fought against the ropes that bound his wrists behind the chair he was forced to sit in. He could barely see out of his right eye (blood had been trickling into it for the last half hour) and he was sure one of his teeth were loose._

 _"C'mon, Longbottom," Amycus Carrow crooned in a disgusting singsong voice. "You're blood is that of the sacred 28! The Dark Lord doesn't want us to spill too much of it..."_

 _Neville leveled his stare at the lump of a man and spat a mouthful of blood in his direction._

 _"You little bastard!" Amycus snarled, drawing his fist back._

 _"Now, now, brother," Alecto soothed, putting a hand on her brother s arm. "Let the children practice," She beckoned the group of sevent h year Slytherins over. In unison, Crabbe and Goyle raised their wands, their faces lit up in apparent pleasure._

 _"Crucio!" They bellowed at the same time._

 _Neville's whole body was on fire. His muscles were seized and he was losing feeling in his bound hands._

 _But he refused to scream._

 _Refused to make a sound._

 _Refuse d give them the satisfaction._

 _"Enough, boys," he heard Alecto say softly. "Save some for the rest of the class."_

 _Crabbe and Goyle lowered their wands, and the agony subsided. Neville breathed through his nose, trying to dispel the pain._

 _And so it went. By twos and threes, sixth and seventh year Slytherins stepped forward and practiced the Cruciatus Curse on him. Most of the curses barely caused a painful twinge, but a few, like Crabbe and Goyle, had really wanted to hurt him._

 _"You're turn, Parkinson," Alecto said, waving a dark haired girl forward._

 _"I-I already went," Pansy mumbled._

 _"No she didn't," Amycus argued, looking slightly confused._

 _"Yeah.. .yeah I think she did..." Alecto said slowly, a pained look on her lumpy face; as if trying to think back even a few minutes caused her physical discomfort._

 _Neville barely listened to the sibling s argument. He was too busy trying to get a good look at Pansy Parkinson through the blood that continued to fall into his eyes. She stood half hidden at the back of the group of Slytherins, not making eye contact with anyone._

Neville sat upright in his hospital bed abruptly, hissing as the sudden movement sent a shock of pain through his leg.

He fell back into the pillows, panting slightly at the ache in his leg.

He should've realized that seeing Pansy Parkinson would dredge up all of his carefully hidden memories of the war. Just over forty eigh t hours in her presence and he was already having flashbacks he had spent literal years repressing.

But the influx of old memories wasn't what was tormenting him, disrupting his sleep and causing him to remember things he would rather stay forgotten. It was the dream that had woken him up.

Except it couldn't be a dream. It had to be a memory. A memory that had been so pushed down, shoved to the farthest recesses of his mind that he had actually forgotten all the details.

Pansy had been in that class, and she had lied right to the Carrows faces.

For him? Neville wasn't so naive to think that was true.

With a sig h he reached blindly towards his bedside table and picked up his watch. The hands showed it was 7:30 in the evening. He had slept for four hours without any interruptions.

And Pansy hadn't returned.

* * *

 _And there is chapter four! I hope you all enjoyed! Chapter five is in the works and will be posted as soon as possible!_

 _I can be found on tumblr as kendrasowlpost_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello my friends, I am finally back with a new chapter!_

 _A huge thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, follow, like and review! Y'all give me life!_

 _And, as always, a massive thank you to my cosmic soulmate, Lady Ylla!_

* * *

Mending

Chapter 5

Neville was sitting up in his bed reading _The Daily Prophet_ , the remains of his breakfast on a tray across his lap, when Pansy entered his room the next morning.

"So," Neville said, turning a page of the paper without looking up. "She returns,"

"Against my better judgement," he heard her mumble as she picked up his chart.

"Where did you go yesterday?" He asked folding the paper back up. "I thought we were supposed to do therapy everyday?"

"Rest is just as important as anything else you will do in the therapy room," she answered, sounding as if she were reading from a manual.

"Still doesn't explain where you went," Neville muttered, picking up his teacup and draining the last of his morning tea.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Longbottom," she said defiantly.

"Back to 'Longbottom', are we?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. "You called me 'Neville' yesterday,"

"So?" She shot at him, not taking her eyes from his chart.

Neville sat down his teacup and actually looked at her. Her eyes looked a bit red and puffy, as if she had spent most of the night crying.

"Hey," he said in a soft voice, causing her to look up. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," she said, finality in her tone.

"You don't look fine," Neville pushed.

"Please, just drop it," Pansy asked softly, still not meeting his eyes.

Neville pursed his lips, but didn't say anything. Pansy vanished the remains of his breakfast and summoned the wheelchair over to the side of the bed. She kept her eyes averted from his while helping him into the chair, and he could sense her tension as she marched them down the hall to the therapy room.

Once the door was shut behind them, Neville wheeled himself over to the straight backed wooden chair while Pansy looked over his chart again.

"Think you can manage to get yourself into the chair today?" She asked, her voice laced with a frostiness Neville hadn't heard from her since their school days.

"I think so," he replied, wondering what on earth he had done to make her so angry.

Pansy focused on his chart and didn't turn towards him until he had hoisted himself from the wheelchair to the wooden chair. Without speaking a word, she sat on the low stool in front of him and began his exercises.

The physical therapy session felt tense. Pansy wouldn't meet Neville's eyes, and kept all of her questions stiff and professional. She seemed to being making an effort to focus solely on his injury, not allowing her eyes to wander as they had done the day before.

Neville wondered if she was trying to push back the memories as well.

After nearly half an hour of heavy silence that was only interrupted by the odd command to move his leg a bit more, or the obligatory inquiry about his pain levels, Neville could barely stand it anymore.

He was about to suggest they cut the session short today, when Pansy's fingers stilled on the bandage around his thigh. He followed her line of sight and noticed she was focused on yet another scar that decorated his body. This one peeked out of the hem of his rugby shorts, and was quite faint, only visible under the bright lighting of the therapy room.

That scar had been an accident of his own making; a mere scratch from the jagged bars of a cage he had broken into to release a group of first years. The injury had unknowingly been allowed to fester, and infection had set in before Luna could pinch the proper potion from Slughorns private cupboards.

Pansy was staring at the scar with wide eyes, her lips parted slightly. He realized then why she was so angry.

"Are you upset about yesterday?" He asked, watching Pansy's face closely for a reaction.

He wasn't disappointed. Her eyes hardened and her jaw clenched. She stood and half turned from him.

"It's in the past, Pansy," he told her, surprising himself with the softness of his voice and the use of her first name.

"It doesn't always feel like the past, Neville," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"Pansy," he whispered, taking her hand where it was held in a fist at her side and smoothing out her fingers.

Pansy stiffened at the contact, but she didn't pull away from him. Neville rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, and took a deep breath.

"Listen, Pansy, I-" Neville began.

A knock on the door sounded like a blast through the silence of the therapy room. Pansy gasped and pulled her hand from Neville's so quickly he almost toppled out of his wheelchair.

"C-come in," Pansy said, clearing her throat and curling her hand into a fist once more.

"Miss Parkinson?" A blonde haired witch in pale blue robes stuck her head inside the door.

"Yes?" Pansy said shortly, her back to the door.

"Mrs. Granger-Weasley wishes to speak to you," the witch said in a small voice.

"About?"

"I do not know, Miss,"

"Please tell her I will be along shortly," Pansy said, smoothing her hair and straightening her robes. "I have a session here to finish first,"

"Yes, Miss," the blonde witch said, shutting the door and plunging them into silence again.

"Pansy-" Neville began, but she cut him off again.

"I'm not discussing this, Neville- _Mr. Longbottom_ ," she said, holding a hand up to stop his protests. "Let's finish your session,"

Although some of the tension had followed the blonde witch out of the room after the interruption, Pansy was using her overly professional tone again. But some of the earlier iciness seemed to have melted a bit.

The rest of the session went by quickly, and Neville kept his mouth shut until he was back in his hospital room. Pansy helped steady him as he transferred himself from the wheelchair to the bed, and pulled the sheets up to his waist.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" She asked, tapping his water jug with her wand to refill it.

"No," he said, looking hard at her. "But we will discuss what happened. Not today," he clarified when she opened her mouth to argue. "But soon,"

Pansy's violet eyes were stormy under her furrowed eyebrows as she stared at him. He held her gaze, but said nothing else.

With a huff, Pansy stomped out of the room and down the hall towards Hermione's office.

* * *

"You wanted to see me?" Pansy asked, stepping into Hermione's office.

"Yes," said Hermione, snapping the clasp on her bag closed. "Do you have plans this evening?"

"Not really..." Pansy said slowly, thinking of the leftover takeaway and the novel she had slowly been reading her way through back at her apartment.

"Would you like to join Ron and I for dinner tonight?" Hermione asked.

"Um...what?" Pansy asked, startled by the sudden invite.

"Dinner," Hermione repeated. "I would really like you to join us. The children will be there too, so you don't have to feel like you're intruding on a date or anything,"

"Well, I suppose I don't really have much else going on..." Pansy said. "Where should I meet you?"

"Just come to mine," Hermione handed her a slip of parchment with an address scribbled on it. "We can floo from there, say...5:30?"

"Okay," Pansy said, reading the address. "I guess I'll see you then?"

"See you then,"

Pansy turned and left Hermione's office, missing the satisfied smile on the other witch's face

* * *

 _I know this is a short chapter, but I promise that chapter six is going to more than make up for it! Chapter six is almost finished, and I will be posting it much quicker than I posted this one!_

 _i can be found on tumblr as kendrasowlpost!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Im back with chapter six! It's a bit longer than the last chapter, so I hope that makes up for a very short chapter five!_

 _I just want to preface this chapter with a small reminder: this is a slightly AU fic, so whole the characters are the same, no one new being introduced into the HP world, I do want to let everyone know that I have bended the timelines of canon a bit, and I might not have the ages of certain characters correct-according to canon. So please do not come after me with pitchforks and torches telling me that I have ages wrong, or that I have fudged the timelines. I know, it was done on purpos for the sake of the story :)._

 _As always, a huge thank you to Lady Ylla for her amazing support and ideas. She is simply the best, and everyone should also go and read her fic SSpellthief!_

 _also a huge thank you to everyone who have favorited, followed or review this fic! Y'all give me life!_

* * *

Mending

Chapter 6

At 5:30 that evening Pansy apparated to the small cottage just outside of Ottery St Catchpole. Taking a deep breath and wondering if it had been a mistake to agree to dinner, she raised a fist and knocked lightly on the door.

Ron answered, looking irritated. "Parkinson," he said, nodding slightly and stepping back to make room for her to enter the foyer.

"Wea-erm...Ron," she said as she passed him.

The red headed man look startled by her use of his first name, but shrugged it off, closing the door behind her.

"Hermione is in the kitchen," he said, pointing to a door on the left. "Probably still arguing with Rose."

"Arguing?" Pansy asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes. "Rose wanted to stay at Hogwarts this weekend, use the library to get more studying in. I swear, she's more like her mother than she will ever be like me,"

"Hmm," Pansy said, not knowing how else to respond, but following Ron across the foyer and into the kitchen all the same.

"'Mione, Par-uh, Pansy is here," He looked uncomfortable using her first name as well, but Pansy was relieved that he was at least being cordial.

"Pansy! Fantastic!" Hermione exclaimed. "So glad you could make it!" She turned to Ron. "Will you please fetch Hugo? We need to leave, I promised we wouldn't be late this time,"

Ron nodded and made his way to the narrow staircase at the back of the kitchen. Pansy looked around her, and noticed a girl of about thirteen standing next to the stone fireplace, clutching a book and glowering into the flames that leapt merrily in the grate.

"Rose?" Hermione said, stepping closer to who Pansy assumed was her daughter. The girl had Hermione's bushy hair, but instead of brown it was a bright, fiery red. "This is Pansy, one of my coworkers," Hermione said.

Rose looked Pansy up and down, muttered a barely audible "Hi," and went back to glaring at the flames.

"Oh, to be 13 again," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes and walking back over to Pansy just as Ron came back downstairs followed by Hugo.

"Ready?" Ron asked, pulling a jar from the top of the mantle.

"Yes, I think so," Hermione said. "You can floo with me," she added to Pansy.

Pansy nodded and stepped up to the hearth as Hermione grabbed a pinch of the glittering powder in the jar.

" _The Burrow_!" Hermione cried as she and Pansy stepped into the now emerald flames.

Pansy barely had time to be surprised before she was spinning along beside the bushy haired witch. She caught glimpses of sitting rooms and kitchens as she spun, being careful to keep her elbows tucked tightly against her sides.

Suddenly, the spinning stopped. Pansy stumbled out of the fireplace, and right into someone with untidy black hair and round glasses.

"Careful, now," Harry Potter said, gripping her upper arms lightly as she regained her balance. "You ok?"

"Yeah, thank you," she said, stepping away from him quickly and looking around.

She was standing in a small but tidy kitchen, with a scrubbed wooden table taking up most of the space. Sitting around the table were some of the last people Pansy had expected to see.

It looked like most of the Weasley clan and their spouses were crammed into the small kitchen. Bill and Fleur smiled politely at her, as did Mr Weasley and George. Ginny however, pushed her chair back with a loud scraping noise and stood up.

"So this is what we're doing tonight?" She asked, stalking past Pansy and Hermione.

"Gin," Harry started, reaching a hand out towards his wife.

"Don't." She hissed, sidestepping him and coming to a stop in front of the sideboard. "Anyone else want a drink?" She asked, pouring herself a considerable amount of firewhiskey.

"Doesn't sound half bad," Angelina muttered standing up from beside George and joining Ginny at the sideboard.

"I guess I'll mind the kids tonight, then," Harry sighed, walking out of the kitchen pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Looks like there is an empty seat, then!" Fleur chirped. "You can sit by me!"

Pansy slowly made her way around the table as the hearth erupted in green flames again and Ron, Hugo, and Rose stepped out, brushing soot of themselves. Pansy sank down into the empty chair, but kept her back straight and shoulders tensed.

Conversation began again, and Soon Fleur was telling Pansy all about the small cottage by the beach where her and Bill lived, and how her dining room table was covered in the seashells that her youngest son Louis liked to collect.

"Where does 'e think we are supposed to _eat_?" Fleur laughed, shaking her head.

Pansy tried to smile, but the muscles in her face felt tight. She was still in shock that this woman had taken to her so quickly.

"Hermione! Ron! I'm so glad your finally here!"

Pansy jumped out of her seat at the sound of Mrs. Weasley bustling into the kitchen as if she had been given an electric shock.

"Oh...hello dear," Mrs. Weasley smiled at Pansy. "Please don't get up on my account!" The older woman laughed merrily.

Pansy looked around guilty as she sat back down. She hadn't jumped up out of respect, but out of fear. Being blindsided by so many welcoming and smiling faces was doing a number on her nerves.

"Molly, you remember my colleague, Pansy Parkinson?" Hermione asked, squeezing her way around the table to take the armload of carrots and potatoes out of Mrs. Weasleys hands and place them in the sink.

"Oh yes! I remember you telling me about how great she is at the hospital!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "It's so nice that you could join us tonight!" Ginny harrumphed behind her mother. "We are all glad that you could make it," Mrs. Weasley went on, throwing a stern look at her glowering daughter.

"Thank you for having me in your home," Pansy said.

Mrs. Weasley smiled softly at her. Pansy realized that the older woman understood exactly what she meant: It wasn't just thanking her for the invite to dinner, it was thanking her for allowing Pansy into her home, around her family, and accepting her as one of them, instead of being suspicious about her actions.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, clapping her hands together. "Dinner will be ready soon. George? Bill? will you boys help me get the potatoes and carrots ready?"

Chairs scraped and conversation broke out again as Bill and George helped their mother and the rest of the family made their way to the sitting room where screams of childish laughter could be heard.

"Mrs Weasley?" Pansy called, coming to stand beside her at the stove. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh, no, dear!" Mrs. Weasley said, poking her wand at a saucepan of water causing it to begin boiling. "We got it covered here! Thank you for the offer, but you're a guest tonight! Go on and join the others in the sitting room, make yourself at home,"

"Thank you" Pansy said. "Again,"

"You're welcome here anytime, dear," Mrs Weasley smiled.

Pansy smiled back and made her way to the sitting room. This room was as packed as the kitchen, but where there had been only adults around the table, the sitting room was crawling with children. Pansy had never been very good with children, and often found that children didn't like her very much either.

Hermione noticed her standing in the doorway and took pity on her.

"Hey," she said. "Sorry to spring everyone on you like this, but I thought you might refuse if you knew where we were actually going,"

"You're right, I probably would have," Pansy sighed.

"I told everyone you were coming," Hermione explained. "And when I explained how much you have accomplished since Hogwarts, everyone was eager to meet you. Well, most everyone," she amended, glancing at the corner where Angelina and Ginny sat sipping their whiskey. "Harry backed me up. Actually, he spoke very highly of you..."

"Saint Potter saves the day again," Pansy mumbled with a wry grin.

"Yeah, he tends to do that doesn't he?" Hermione chuckled. "Anyway, some introductions. You've met Rose and Hugo," she said pointing at Rose, who was curled up in an armchair by the fire, nose in a book, and Hugo who was playing exploding snap with a girl who had the same silvery blonde hair as Fleur. "That's Victoire with him, Bill and Fleur's oldest. The other little redhead is Louis," she said, pointing to a boy of about eight who was sitting on the floor leaning against his mothers legs. "Dominique is their middle child, but she is visiting her grandparents in France this weekend," Hermione explained. "That's Freddie and Roxanne, George and Angelina's two," she said pointing to a boy of about ten and a girl of about seven who were listening to Ron and Harry telling a story of one of their many Hogwarts adventures. "James is Harry and Ginny's oldest, but he stayed at the school this weekend, something about quidditch practice. Lily is the little one Mr. Weasley is holding, she just turned three, and this," Hermione smiled at the young boy who shyly edged his way over to them. "Is Albus, Harry and Ginny's middle one. Albus, this is Pansy, she works with me at St Mungos,"

"Nice to meet you Albus," Pansy smiled, awkwardly lowering herself to the same level as the boy.

"Nice to meet you," Albus replied, grinning.

"And how old are you?" Pansy asked.

"I'm six and one quarter!" He grinned wider, showing a missing front tooth.

"Six and one quarter! That is a fine age indeed!" Pansy exclaimed.

Albus giggled, covering his mouth with his hands.

"Albus." Ginny called. "Will you come here?"

"Bye miss Pansy!" Albus called as he skipped over to his mother.

"She's afraid I'll corrupt her kid," Pansy muttered.

"Ginny will come around," Hermione assured her. "Let's sit down,"

Pansy followed Hermione to a small sofa next to Fleur, who smile at Pansy again as she sat.

Pansy listened to the conversations around her. She still felt tense, sitting in the middle of a group of people who, fifteen years ago, wouldn't have trusted her in the same room as them, let alone joining them for dinner. Hermione and Fleur did their best to stay on topics of conversation that Pansy could join in, and she was grateful for the inclusion. Little Albus soon edged his way back over to them and sat on the floor in front of their sofa, playing with a toy model of a quidditch pitch, complete with small moving players and balls.

"Gin is hoping he will play quidditch like his brother when he gets to Hogwarts," Harry's said, coming to stand beside the sofa.

"Well, with his parents being who they are, of say there is a very good chance he will be on that pitch his first year," Pansy replied, smiling at Albus when he looked up at the sound of his fathers voice.

Mrs. Weasley called everyone to dinner then. Children where scooped up or herded from the sitting room to the small kitchen. When everyone had settled in, Pansy was surprised to find herself sitting between Mr Weasley and little Albus. The small boy seemed to be quite taken with her, and blushed every time Pansy looked at him. Ginny looked furious that her son chose to sit next to her and kept throwing glares in her direction, as if it were Pansy's fault.

Mrs. Weasley sat the last of the food on the table and Pansy's mouth began to water despite her nerves. The scrubbed wooden table groaned under platters of lamb chops, large bowls of mashed potatoes, steaming piles of honey and brown sugar roasted carrots and boats of gravy. Elder flower wine flowed freely, and soon, Pansy's defenses came down enough to engage Mr. Weasley in a conversation about muggle medicine.

"Pansy, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked from across the table as rhubarb crumble was being passed around for dessert. "Hermione says you have been helping Neville with his therapy, how is he doing?"

The bright conversation around her dropped instantly. Ginny, who had loosened up and had actually asked Pansy to pass the basket of rolls (albeit through gritted teeth and without looking at her), flushed with anger again.

"He is doing excellent," she said, sitting down her spoon. "We have only had three sessions and he has already progressed faster than we could've hoped,"

"We sure do miss him," Mrs Weasley smiled fondly. "He's usually here for these dinners," she explained.

"That's nice," Pansy said, unsure of what else to say.

"He will probably be absent for quite a while, mother," Ginny sneered. "Since our own dear Hermione has seen it fit to assign this incompetent snake to his care,"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley gasped.

"The sneaky bitch is probably prolonging his pain, making his injury worse!" Ginny accused, her face red and splotchy from anger and alcohol.

Pansy had had enough of the woman's lies. Enough of her unsolicited anger and accusations. Enough of still being treated like the daughter of a Death Eater and a frightened seventeen year old Slytherin all these years later, when she had proven herself over and over again to everyone.

"Sneaky bitch, am I?" Pansy asked quietly, her voice shaking with barely concealed rage. "Must I remind you whose fault it is that he is under my care in the first place?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ginny said stiffly.

"Don't I?" Pansy asked. She could feel the frostiness creeping back into her voice. "Do you think Hermione so incompetent that she can't even file a injury report correctly? Or are you accusing Neville himself of lying?"

Pansy could feel the weight of the stares of everyone in the kitchen. She vaguely noticed little Albus looking from her to his mother with wide eyes. A small voice in the back of Pansy's mind whispered to be careful; but she ignored it.

For some reason that was utterly foreign to her, she felt the strangest desire to defend Neville, to protect him from the waspish words of his so called friend.

"What is she talking about, Ginny?" Mr. Weasley asked, authority in his tone.

"It's nothing, dad," Ginny said quickly.

"It sure sounds like something, Gin," Bill said, eyes narrowed as he looked at his sister.

"It was a joke," Ginny said, pinning Pansy with a hateful glare. "I was poking fun at Neville's flying abilities, and James and Hugo might have repeated it around Nev. Nothing was meant by it!"

" _And I am just trying to do my job!_ " Pansy yelled, standing so quickly her chair fell over, her anger and frustrations the last few days finally getting the best of her. "You are supposed to be his friend, Ginny Potter! You shouldn't have made fun of him in the first place! And now that he is seriously injured, you should be happy that he is under the care of a professional who actually knows what they are doing, and who actually cares about his wellbeing!"

Ginny snatched her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at Pansy's face.

"Ginerva Weasley, you will put that wand away, and you will put it away right now," Mrs Weasley said quietly, also standing up.

The entire kitchen was silent and looking between Pansy and Ginny with wide eyes.

"NOW!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.

"Are you seriously taking her side?" Ginny asked in disbelief, yet lowering her wand all the same.

"We all care about Neville," Mrs. Weasley said. "If Hermione thinks Pansy is the right one to be taking care of him, that should be good enough for everyone. Including you!"

Ginny glared at her mother for a few moments before turning and kicking the back door open and marching out into the garden.

Harry scrambled from his chair and followed her outside, their raised voices floating into the small kitchen like a rumble of thunder.

"I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Weasley sighed, sitting down and wringing her hands.

"No, I apologize, Mrs. Weasley," Pansy said, picking up her fallen chair and pushing it back under the table. "Please forgive me for ruining dinner. If it wouldn't be any trouble, I'll just floo back to St Mungos from here, there is some paperwork that needs my attention,"

Ignoring Mrs. Weasley's protests and skirting Hermione's outstretched hand, Pansy grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the ceramic flower pot on the mantle and tossed it into the flames.

* * *

 _And there is chapter six!_

 _chapter seven might take a bit to post, as I am still working on it, and my muses aren't exactly cooperating_

 _i can be found on tumblr as kendrasowlpost!_


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